PetraSplit
by JuniperSky
Summary: Everyone wonders 'what if' This is a short 'what if' starting when Petra is in Achilles power. If it is liked I might extend.
1. Escape

We all wonder once we finish a book what would have happened if a character had made a difference choice. I had the chance to dream about it, this is what I came up with. This is a canon split with Shadow of the Hegemon by Orson Scott Card. This version has been REVAMPED to fix grammar and spelling errors.

Petra falls upon the floor, pain stinging through her cheek. Achilles stands before her his hand still raised from the blow. Petra's eyes flash and she gropes at her leg for the knife she had hidden there during lunch.

Jumping to her feet, Petra leaps forward with all the rage of her captivity. The knife buries itself in deep into his heart. The gun falls from his grasp as he gasps for breath. She pulls out the knife and brings the blade ripping across his throat. His lifeblood drips onto the carpet. He reaches for her, stumbling as he tries to speak. His mouth moves but no sound escapes his lips. Their eyes meet for a moment and he stares at her before crumpling onto the floor his eyes still fixed on Petra, focused even in death. The knife drops from her hands and she looks down at the lifeless body before her. Blood streams sluggishly between her fingers and her clothes are a bright crimson.

Coolly she detaches herself from the situation and begins to think. When Achilles cronies come to investigate why Achilles does not come out they would find him dead and her covered in blood. Without him, there will be no reason to keep _her_ alive. On this vein she begins to search the room. Achilles would have had a bolt-hole, the streets of Amsterdam would have allowed for no other mentality. Her initial search reveals nothing so she pauses and stares at the body on the floor. "Where did you hide it?" she mutters softly as her eyes move across the room. For a second her eyes un-focus on the piece of carpet he had been standing on just before she had jumped him. "Of course…" Falling to her knees she searches the floor till her fingers find an almost invisible loop of carpet.

It was made for someone with Achilles' sized fingers, but she manages to haul away the piece of carpet. It came easily, displaying cleanly cut sides. Underneath stood a hatchway to a small door. A loud knock causes Petra to freeze as the sound reverberates through the room. Instinct takes over as the door opens. She pulls up the door and slips down as shouts chime from whomever had opened the door. A single shot is fired, but she is no longer in the room. Her feet hit the ground with numbing force and she is back up and running.

The passageway is narrow and dark. She runs with one hand stretched out before her and the second feeling the side of the passageway for more openings. A slight wind begins to reach her, sending a chill down her spine. After a bit of time and stumbling over bits of rock she reaches a turning point. The wind is stronger to her left and so she turns that way. The wind whips around her, chilling her hands and face. Goosebumps climb across her body and her nose grows red in the chill.

Time is nonexistent in the darkness. Somewhere behind her she hears the faint shouts of Achilles' guards, but she does not panic. For now, they are growing no closer and the chill wind is directly on her face. It wraps lovingly around her stealing her warmth and starting to freeze her sweat into little beads of ice upon her skin.

The steel of the passage comes to and end, but the wind continues to blow in her face. Petra runs her hands across the freezing wall before her but nothing stands out. She pauses and warms her hands up under her armpits before running them again over the wall in the darkness. This time she finds a latch and with all her strength pushes the doorway open.

Snow flies into her face and a large pile of snow buries her for a moment. Body warmth melts the snow as she fights her way out of it. Petra stares at the landscape around her. Behind her stands the compound, and before her a winter wasteland. She takes one step and her hands lose their grip on the door and the wind forces it closed. Blindly she attempts to open it again, but it had no handle on the outside.

In the distance she can hear an alarm and the sound of it forces her face her options. Stay here, be found and most likely be killed, or chance the storm in which she would possibly die. In light of the possibilities she turns to face the storm. She trudges away into the blinding slow her hands and feet growing more numb by the second. The snow melts from the warmth of her body then freezes again forming a thin layer of ice along her clothing. She wipes snow from her eyes and pushes forward focusing on placing one foot in front of the other. Bushes hit her, but she only vaguely notes their presence. Needle sharp edges rake across her face, arms and hands scraping away the ice for a moment and leaving long angry scratches that barely bled in the cold.

Once she falls as she stumbles into a large tree. Pain shoots up her arms as she tries to catch herself. The numbness of her arms and legs causes her to miscalculate and she takes the fall full in the face. The tree creates a momentary break in the fury of the wind, giving her a moment to catch her breath before she stands up again and forces herself forward to look for shelter. She can no longer feel her toes. Her fingers are a long distant memory. A small part of her mind informs her that she needs to get out of the cold or she will no longer be able to move.

Shots ring behind her and she falls into the snow to hide. They had found her. Struggling she gets to her feet and stumbles as best she can slightly to her left thankful that the storm would erase her footprints. The time was indeterminable. Twice bullets ripped past her face, kissing it lightly before running on to another target. It seemed like hours before the shooting stopped, but they do stop. She finds another fallen tree and pauses for a moment. She hears nothing.

Petra starts back on her trek, falling more then once. The storm begins to fade a bit, her visibility becoming more then a few feet. Her eyes fix on the newest sight, smoke. She races as fast as she is able to on feet that might as well be blocks of ice. She does not find the building so much as run right into it. Her face is scratched by the harsh wood. Numb hands move in desperation across the wall to find a window, a door anything at all. More by luck then anything else her frozen hands send pain shooting up her arms as they hit something metal. She forces them to grip it and pulls with every ounce of her remaining strength. It opens, and she falls into a room blessedly warm. Her mind registers the warmth before she faints.


	2. Warmth

Petra awakens as rough hands move her from the doorway. She tries to struggle away from them, but they hold her firmly. There are voices in the background, but she can only catch every few words.

"….the hell….." this voice was low. It had to belong to a man. It was also close to her, perhaps the one who held her?

"Just… blanket… Vlad…" The language was heavily accented Russian, a language she had learned while in the complex. This voice was much higher then the other, and seemed to be chiding whoever 'Vlad' was. Petra tries to open her eyes as she is laid down upon something soft. Something warm and heavy is laid over her body.

"Frost… look… toes. Think … live?" Petra manages to force her eyes open and stares up at the woman standing over her, examining her feet. "She is awake!" The woman drops her foot onto something soft and moves to look into Petra's face. "Do not…" her voice fades out for a moment, only to reassert itself. "…alright."

Petra tries to make her numb mouth work properly, but all that comes out is a jumbled "wvhere?" She understood much more Russian then she could speak, especially in her almost-completely frozen state.

"Do not speak." The kindly voice says, as she touches Petra's cheek. The warmth of the blanket and the woman's voice allow her to feel safe enough to drop into unconsciousness once again.

The woman pulls Vlad to the other side of the room, near a large fire lighting up the room. "Vlad, this must be the girl the men from the compound were looking for." Her voice is firm, but her eyes are on the girl. "She's half dead and she is going to lose at least two toes and one finger to frostbite. It is a miracle she will not lose her ears or nose."

Vlad looks at his wife, eyes narrowed. "You do not want to give her up." He does not make it a question. He knows his wife well enough by now to realize that when she speaks so calmly about frostbite that she is very concerned.

His wife sighs, "She cannot be more then fifteen, a huge bruise on her face, and what could only be blood on her clothing? I have never trusted that place." Her eyes are still fixed on the brown-haired girl laying under her best home-made quilt. "She made her way here in a _blizzard_ Vlad. God must have led her to us, it would be a sin to turn her over to _them._" Spittle flies out of her mouth as she says the word 'them'.

"They will be back." Vlad says, biting his lip. "If they should find her…" His voice trails off as he looks at his home. "Alla, we could lose everything. This home, the bar..." He stops as he looks at his wife. She is still looking longingly at the girl. Nothing would convince her that this girl was not worth saving from the compound. "We will make it happen."

A smile splits across Alla's face and she wraps her arms around her husband. In his ear she whispers, "We will not regret this. God will reward us for helping this poor child."


	3. Wake up and Leave

"Wake up, come now girl…." An urgent hand shakes Petra's shoulder. Her eyes open slowly and a hazy face begins to appear. The battle school training prods her to wake up, get up, et away from the hand and the voice, but her body rebels. Feeling sick and stiff Petra tries to sit up. A strong hand grabs her shoulder and pulls her to her feet. An empty stomach fights against the sudden movement, but has nothing to expel.

As she heaves air onto the floor gentler hands grip her arms. "They be comin, here we go." The voice leads her as Petra's vision begins to clear bit by bit, moment by moment. She can see the rough floorboards covered now and again by soft rugs. She slips on one, but the hands keep her moving forward. Light from a fire flickers in the corner, and it receives a glance, but the light hurts and she looks away.

A blast of cold hitting her face forces her a step backward. Her last memories of the cold grip her and she beings to fight the hands. "Can't… no, please, cold…" Her voice is incoherent as the hands force her outside.

"I'm sorry love! You got to be gone, they're searchin for ye body, and ain't found nothing. It be time for ye to leave." Petra blinks back eyes that quickly tear in the searing cold. For the first time her gaze focuses on the face of a woman. Her muddy hair whips in the wind, and tears stand frozen upon her pale face.

Petra forces her mind to focus back on the situation at hand, she forces herself to speak slowly, searching for the words that make sense. "Where… am I going?" The woman's hand reaches out and touches Petra's cheek, pushing a lock of her black hair away.

"To Saint Petersburg. From there, hopefully out of the country." This voice does not belong to the woman, but rather to the man holding Petra's arm. "Friend agreed to take you that far." His voice holds no emotion, and Petra does not look up into his eyes. A man with a voice like that could sell her out, though the woman sounds sincere. A bit like Petra's own mother, but… different

The image of Petra's mother comes to mind, the last one Petra has. The one where her mother sits tied to a chair and is forced to watch while Petra is abducted. Petra shakes off the memory and steps out of the man's hold. This woman was kind to her she decides. There was no reason to cause her any further pain. "Thank you." This comes in the lowest voice Petra can muster, and she reaches out to wipe away a tear from the woman's face.

T he woman steps back, and Petra feels the hands of the man drop away. "Be careful, and sleep. The sickness you brought has not left you completely."

"Go quickly." He says, and for the first time she really sees him. He stands inches taller than her, even more inches above his wife. A long beard obscures most of his face, and his eyes are downcast. "Our friend awaits, no names need be exchanged. He will get you to the city." The dismissal is clear in his voice. While his wife might wish for Petra's better care, it is clear he wishes her gone.

"Achilles cannot hurt you." Petra says to him, her eyes locking with his gaze.

"The boy-controller is no deader than a ghost can ever be." A chill colder than the air stabs into Petra's heart. The man's voice digs into her heart and she turns away. If Achilles is not as dead as she had supposed then it was time to leave the country. She takes one look back at the couple, the woman's arms wrapped tightly around the man's. She did not know their name, and never would. Behind them a dark snow cloud moves onto the horizon, outlining the compound in the distance. Her gaze settles on the compound, the chill gripping her heart.

A fit of coughing sends her to her knees as she walks away, but she pushes herself up and brushes the snow off of her knees. A car waits a few feet away with a cloaked man sitting in the drivers seat. The door opens easily at her touch and the warm air from inside brushes over her in warm drafts. The few moments in the snow is enough to force the air from her lungs. Once inside of the warmth she forces the door closed and leans her head against the metal that covers the window. It promised to be a long drive full of worries. Thankfully, the worry is not enough to keep her awake


	4. Three Days

Every bump wakes Petra from her stupor. Within just a few minutes Petra has the need to throw up. Apparently, the small amount of time she was with… who were they, was not enough to fix what was full blown pneumonia. The warmth that had entered her bones in the house and now surrounded her in the car seemed cold again. Petra's empty stomach rolls within the hour as the van makes its endless way along the road.

A jerking stops sends her to her knees, one hand against the side of the van for balance. "Damn!" she swears. The floor sends chills racing up her legs to tighten the knot of her stomach. The van makes no move to continue, so Petra carefully picks herself up. The van is not quite tall enough for her to stand up completely, leaving her with a bend head as her hair falls across her face.

The small window that has separated her from the driver opens and a blanket is dumped without a sound. "Thanks for the lift." Petra gathers up the blanket and throws it around herself then opens the door. The wind chills her though the blanket instantly as she struggles against it to close the door. The moment she has the van screams to life as it kicks up snow into Petra's face. It does not take long for the van to disappear into the white haze of blowing snow. As the snow settles she sees light and makes her way towards it, one slow step at a time.

The blanket is large enough to be held over her head and Petra makes the adjustment. Now the small warmth of her breath is captured and blown back into her face rather than be captured by the demon winds. The lights grow nearer as Petra walks along what seems to be just slightly smaller snow drifts than the ones around her. The nearest building has a name hanging off of it, "Saint-Petersburg International Hostel". It takes Petra's mind a moment to process it.

Petra pushes open the door, curious. She had heard of Hostel's once- in a study in Battle School that had touched on migration patterns. Never had it occurred to her that they might still exist.

The Hostel was warm, warmer than outside was. It was decorated in an early twenty first century style with bright red accent rugs that had shown their better days very long ago. A fire burned at one side of the small entry room. A woman sat at a desk typing away. She does not seem to have noticed that someone had entered the building. Petra takes off the blanket and shakes the snow off. It melts when separated from its friends. Folding the blanket over her arm Petra takes a deep breath.

"Well come on girl, get over here." The abrupt welcome startles the girl and she makes no move forward. "I am old and my feet are tired, I will not be walking towards you. Do you want a room for the night or not?" The woman does not seem hostile at all, simply careworn. Petra approaches cautiously, her mind looking for a weapon just in case. A small stream of adrenalin masks the effects of her sickness momentarily. "Now, a dormitory room is 605 rubles a night, but if you're willing to do a little work, we might be able to lower the cost a bit. You might find something cheaper out near the corners of town, but I doubt you would make it. The police seem mighty active in getting stray children off the street in the winter these days."

Petra reaches for her pocket, her mind working furiously. When, as she expected the pocket turns up empty she turns them out for the woman to see. "I have no money. I was caught outside in the last storm and managed to get sick. A family took me in for a while, but times are rough. I don't want to inconvenient you, but do you know where I might stay where I will not freeze completely?" There is a certain amount of pathetic wretch that Petra allows to slip into her voice. She cannot help speaking as if she is cultured, her sickness seems to be preventing too much clear thought.

The woman looks Petra up and down for a moment. "You can stay for the next few days, there is a train leaving Russia then. You'll have to work for your board and I've little I can feed you. This way." The woman heaves herself down from the chair visibly wincing as her feet hit the ground. Petra notices they are wrapped in thick wool which ought to keep the pain to a minimum. A small portion of her mind registers amazement that the woman would even attempt walking. Following her Petra take the chance to look around. It seems empty, but for a single person at a pay-per-use desk.

"You can sleep here." The woman opens the door to a room with at least forty beds in two straight rows. For a moment, Petra has a flashback of battle school- but no, these single not double bunked beds. "You will be sweeping first. Then mopping. I expect it should take you till very late to sweep.. Turn the light off when you are done. The supplies you need are in the first door on your right, dark wooden one. I will see you tomorrow." The old woman turns and totters away back to her chair and desk.

Petra almost asks about dinner, but decides against it. If the woman was going to let her stay without asking even her name there was no reason to ask for more. Petra lays her blanket on what seems to be an empty bed to dry then goes to find the broom and cleaning materials.

Sweeping was long a meticulous. All of the floors seem to be made of imitation wood without a hint of real carpet outside of the worn rugs. Under the rugs seemed to be a mountain of dirt. Petra rolled each of them up to sweep under them, long after the woman and other resident had found their beds. The mounds of dirt were thrown out of a small back window to create a pile of brown snow.

Petra's back popped after the last bit of dirt was banished from the building. _Three days of this? Perhaps I have become very, very soft.___The bed provided felt to Petra like a piece of wood but it did not stop her from being asleep from the moment she draped her blanket over her.

The next few days saw Petra mopping, dusting, folding, and cleaning out the fire places. The woman provided breakfast and a small piece of bread every night after the first. It was less than Petra had ever eaten in her life, but enough to keep her going. The woman said little more to her than to point out new chores and where refuse could be disposed of. A few customers came, stayed and left. One night a third of the beds were full. Another, only the one which Petra slept in.

The third day dawned clear and cold. The wind died down for the first time since Petra has stepped outside of Achilles' compound. The train should arrive today. Beside the door was a small packet with the word 'girl' pinned to the top, the woman was no where to be seen. The packet contained very little. First was a clipping from a magazine- the headline about lost battle school children. Petra recognized her face on the small picture. Next were the items to dye hair, and a pair of scissors. Third was a very old passport of a young blond woman. Last of all was a two-way ticket from Saint Petersburg to Yerevan. "Thank you." Petra turns to look at the desk where the woman had sat for all of Petra's stay. She was not there. Opening the door Petra slips out, holding her small bundle tightly.

The noise of the train leads her to the station easily. Once there she slips into the bathroom, cutting her hair short, then applying the dye. She saves a little and after finishing her hair applies it to her eyebrows and lashes. It stings like salt in an open wound, but she holds on till both are as bold a gold as her hair.

At the ticket counter the woman takes the ticket and passport glances at both then directs her to the correct train. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Once on the train Petra sits in the seat she is directed to, and pulls her blanket up to her neck. The train would leave in just a few minutes and she would almost be free. A day still in Russia. Then a day to Yerevan. Once there… Petra stops her thinking. She just needed to get there. Time was on her side for now.


End file.
